


Vanilla Buttercream

by Werelibrarian



Series: A Little Sugar [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Cupcakes, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werelibrarian/pseuds/Werelibrarian
Summary: Detective Castle patiently listened as Foggy listed off the day’s different flavours--cinnamon cappuccino, white chocolate ganache, strawberry and clotted cream, lime coconut--and then he said what he always said when Foggy finished: "which one's your favourite?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the AU: Coffee shop square

"Taste this," Foggy ordered.

Without ceasing his hands' speedy skim over the book, Matt opened his mouth and Foggy poked a piece of cake onto his tongue. He held his breath as Matt chewed.

"S'good." Matt said, still reading.

"Better than the banoffee cream?"

"Yes."

"But not as good as the chocolate cayenne."

"Yes. No."

"Yes or no?"

"I can't remember. How many samples ago was chocolate cayenne?"

Foggy counted the plates lined up behind Matt's book. "Nine."

Matt made a face. "Remind me to set my alarm for five instead of six tomorrow."

"What for?"

"So I can jog off all this cake," Matt flicked his hand over the table's detritus with a smirk. "I'm not going to fit into my best man tux!"

Foggy considered the rosemary and salted caramel cupcake in his hand. It was a tweak on a chiffon cake recipe, and with its soft and tender texture, would look absolutely lovely smashed into Matt's hair.

"No one's getting married, and even if I were, you would be my last choice for best man."

"No, I wouldn't."

Foggy ticked off on his fingers. "It's Brett, Malcolm, my cousin Terry, whoever keeps pissing on my doorstep, Professor York, and then you."

Matt's smirk didn't even dim. "Maybe I can be Detective Castle's best man."

Foggy's fingers twitched. There was a fluffy pile of frosting waiting to be scooped up on his index, and Matt's ear was right there.

"No one's getting married!" Foggy retorted again, and stomped into the kitchen.

The Foggy Afternoon Cafe was nestled between a scrubby looking nail salon and a video store that Matt insisted was a mob front. Foggy had bought it when it was called Dora's Cupcakes, done up in lilac and white, and had meant to redo the paint when money came in. When the money did start coming it, Foggy put it into the mortgage instead. Malcolm said it was shabby chic. Robyn called it shit-ugly. Matt just shrugged. Whatever the front looked like, the kitchen had been in good shape; the steel tables were stable and sturdy, if slightly banged up, and the ovens and refrigerators were only slightly wonky.

When Foggy pushed through the curtain, his assistants were towelling splashes of yellow goo off said fridges.

"What the hell happened?"

"Curdled custard," Robyn said shortly, not turning around.

Foggy looked at Malcolm, who flapped an "I got this," hand at him.

"Foggy--" Matt bumped into his back, "ah, there you are."

"No customers in the kitchen," Foggy said, poking him in the chest.

"I own a quarter of this place."

"The quarter in front of the counter. So go there!" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robyn and Malcolm share an uneasy look.

"You ok, Foggy?" Bless Malcolm, he was a born peacemaker. Foggy had hired him to operate the temperamental espresso machine out front, but more often than not he was in the kitchen, keeping Robyn's needle out of the red zone. She had been the highest strung baker Foggy had ever met, but she was also inhumanly fast, thrashing bowls of batter and buttercream into trays of perfectly frosted cupcakes in what seemed like minutes.

"Don't worry, guys," Matt laughed, swatting at Foggy's grabby hands and jabbing his cane at Foggy's feet, "he's just antsy because Detective Castle hasn't visited today."

"I am not! Oh my god, why didn't I let Teddy Leung swirly you to death in the fourth grade?" Foggy pulled at his hair.

"You love me." Matt's hug was a headlock in disguise. "Say it, come on, say it!"

Foggy struggled to back out of his hold until his ass hit the counter that held the register. "That's it, you're not even invited to my wedding!" he hollered.

"You're getting married?" A voice asked from the doorway.

Matt's hold abruptly went slack, and Foggy popped up. Detective Castle was the kind of cop that comic book artists drew before they crumpled him up and scolded themselves for being unimaginative. Tall, bearded, and broad, with a "don't fuck with me" expression, all wrapped up in a rumpled suit and a tan trench-coat. He was one fedora away from being played by Humphrey Bogart, except for the fact he was so much hotter.

Over his shoulder, Detective Page was laughing into her sleeve.

Foggy smoothed his hair down and tugged his apron back into place. "What can I get you?"

"Two lattes, a red velvet cupcake for me, and whatever the walking solar eclipse wants," Page said, pushing past her partner and collapsing into a chair, "Counsellor," she greeted Matt, "free any criminals lately?"

"Detective," Matt snapped back, "brutalize any citizens lately?"

Page grinned and cracked her gum at him. Matt had his "bloodthirsty debater" face on, which Foggy remembered from law school as coming right before his "defeated and turned on by it" face, so Foggy just rolled his eyes and kicked the espresso machine into life.

"So should I be wishing you congratulations?" Castle rumbled, leaning on the counter with his enormous arms crossed.

"Thanks," Foggy said distractedly as he poured steamed milk into a mug. Ugh, he was a terrible barista. His latte heart looked more like a liver. "What for?"

"The wedding?"

Foggy's eyes snapped up. Castle's gaze was intent, but his smile was soft. His smile was always so soft. "Ah, no. That was just a--bad joke."

"So you're not getting married?"

Foggy laughed. "Let's just say no one's breaking down my door for a date."

"Well, good, because that'd be a crime," Castle said, leaning forward like he was sharing a secret. "I would know, I'm a cop."

Foggy couldn't help but smile, and was it his imagination, or was Castle leaning even closer?

"Hey partner, where's my coffee?" Page called.

Foggy jumped back.

"Oh, um, let me show you what I've got," he said hastily, motioning Castle over to the pastry case.

Castle patiently listened as Foggy listed off the day's different flavours--cinnamon cappuccino, white chocolate ganache, strawberry and clotted cream, lime coconut--and then he said what he always said when Foggy finished: "which one's your favourite?"

Foggy rubbed his neck, thinking of the cupcake he had under a cake safe in the back. "Why don't you take Detective Page her order, and I'll bring something out for you." He pushed the two mugs and a red velvet cupcake towards him.

"What's this?" Castle was already cutting into the cupcake as Foggy set the plate down.

"Tahini and chocolate cupcake, with a lime creme fraiche frosting," Foggy answered, twisting his apron string around his finger.

Castle froze. Detective Page's latte stopped halfway to her mouth. In his usual seat in the corner, Matt stopped reading and turned around with an incredulous expression.

The weight of three stares made him blurt, "it's an experiment."

"It looks great, Foggy, thank you," Detective Page said, her fingers dug hard into Castle's arm, where apparently his mute button was located, because he just nodded. Foggy's smile felt sickly on his face so he made a hasty retreat to the kitchen. It was weird how hanging curtains in doorways made people think they were actually soundproof doors, because he could hear everything the detectives were hissing at each other.

"Just eat it, or you'll hurt his feelings."

"I don't even know what tahini is!"

"No one does, eat it anyway."

"Maybe I can hide it in the potted plant--oh."

Foggy peeked through the curtain. Castle was sitting motionless, his fork poking out of his mouth.

"Ohhhh my god," he moaned, loud enough to rattle the glass in the pastry case.

Matt spun around in his chair again.

"What the shit, Castle!" Page sputtered.

"I'm in love, Page. This is it, I'm in love." His eyelids were actually fluttering. Foggy gulped as he watched Castle suck the tines of his fork sparkling clean before making another dainty cut. He was trying to make the cupcake last with small bites, Foggy realized, and fistbumped himself.

"I can't be seeing this. This is just...so wrong." Page was shaking her head. She picked up her plate and moved to Matt's table.

Foggy watched Castle demolish the cupcake by tidy forkfuls, face blissful. When there were no more crumbs or smears of frosting to be scraped up, he got to his feet and started right towards the kitchen. Foggy leapt back and busied himself with a bowl of honey-flapjack batter.

"Foggy?" Castle pushed the curtain aside and knocked on the doorframe.

"No customers in the kitchen," Robyn screamed, her piping bag held like a dagger. Malcolm, making fondant flowers next to her, didn't even flinch.

"Robyn!" Foggy yelped, and glanced at Castle. "Uh, let's go to my office."

Robyn's glare followed them into the phone booth that Foggy generously called his office. "I'm so sorry about that. She's a good kid, under a lot of layers of a kid who's really difficult to work with."

"She got a brother? Same age, brown hair. Could pour hot coffee in his lap and he'd say sorry?"

Foggy squinted at him. "Have you met Ruben, or are you just a really good detective?"

"I think he's one of the autopsy gremlins at the Midtown morgue."

"Oh. Probably, who knows." Foggy waved a hand, caught sight of a smear of batter and scrubbed it on his apron. "Was the cupcake ok? Any notes for improvement?"

Castle smiled at the ground, and Foggy's heart felt like it needed a fainting couch. "No, it was perfect. Just--the most amazing thing I've ever put in my mouth."

"Oh," squeaked Foggy, "that's nice."

"Listen, I was wondering if--"

"Castle!" Detective Page's angry voice sliced through the air, "we're leaving!"

When Foggy and Castle poked their heads out, Page was standing stiffly by the door with her hands bunched up in fists, and Matt had his smug face on.

Yeesh.

"I'd better go," Castle said, a shade of regret in his voice, "before she books him."

"For what?"

"She'd come up with something. Sorry, Foggy."

"See you soon though?" Foggy aimed for casual, but he never did have the best aim.

"You bet. Can't wait to try whatever you come up with next," Castle nodded at him and followed Page out the door.

When the chime on the door stopped ringing, Foggy took three long steps towards Matt and slapped him on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I don't know, but the universe was telling me you deserved it."

***

Foggy's recipes came from a lot of places. Tradition dictated that ragamuffin bakers like him--law internship washouts who turn stress-baking into a job--have a notebook of secret family recipes, but he didn't. Some were his mother's, but some were his grandmother's, but some were clipped out of magazines or printed off the internet. Those were covered in handwritten notes, because Foggy usually tweaked them until they were something else entirely.

He knew that trying to run a bakery based on "what Foggy personally finds tasty" was a recipe for bankruptcy, and since he hadn't gone to pastry school where they taught things like flavour pairing and palate refinement, he threw ingredients together with deliberate perversity, trying to discover for himself the border between interesting and inedible: caramelized fig and almond. Bitter chocolate and smoked sugar. Butterscotch and pink peppercorns.

In those early days, he and Matt went through a lot of alka-seltzer.

At the end of the afternoon, when Robyn and Malcolm had scrubbed down the kitchen and bundled themselves out the door, Foggy sat at the shiny metal bench with a stack of cookbooks and a legal pad.

Detective Castle's appreciation for the experiment had surprised Foggy. The burly, no-nonsense cop gave off a meat and potatoes kind of vibe; he looked like he’d go for familiar, stodgy desserts--two-crust fruit pies with grainy vanilla ice cream on top.

"Classic diner pies? Foggy wrote on his legal pad.

But maybe that wasn't giving him enough credit. This wasn't the midwest, this was Manhattan, and he knew that Detective Castle could arrest a person in English, Italian, Urdu, Mandarin, and Polish. Once, he'd jokingly insisted Castle prove it, but he had to take a breather halfway through getting mirandized in gravelly Sicilian. The point was, Castle could probably spin the culinary wheel as well as any New Yorker--rugelach at breakfast, pad thai at lunch, Irish stew at dinner--and probably wouldn't balk at the more out-there flavours.

"Green tea mochi and honeydew," Foggy wrote, "toffee sriracha?" He underlined the question mark twice.

Foggy could feel his face heating up, remembering the way Sicilian rolled off Castle's tongue, and he wondered if that's where Castle's family tree was planted. Foggy shrugged. He and Matt were both some sort of nondescript English-Irish mix by way of Ellis Island, with probably some distant Danish in the Nelson genes, but he knew that for some, there was nothing quite like the taste of home.

"Italian flavours?" he wrote. "Cannoli?"

By midnight, Foggy had the bones of nine new recipes. Now he needed to do a lot of testing, and for that, he had to get his hands on some out of the ordinary ingredients.

He stuffed a stale lemon basil cupcake in his mouth as he waited for Marci's voicemail to engage; eleven was the tail end of service at the uptown restaurant where she was a commis and she wouldn't be home for another hour at least. "Hey Marci, I need a favour, and you still owe me for that thing with the éclairs. Can you borrow a few ingredients from your work pantry for me? It's Foggy, by the way."

***

"Foggy, hey wake up Fog." Whoever was shaking him awake better not be responsible for his broken nose, Foggy thought, but as he pushed himself upright, he realized that he was still in the cafe's kitchen, his pillow was actually a cookbook, and that was why his beak felt flattened. He squinted up at Matt.

"What're you doing here?"

"Robyn called me at the gym." Foggy looked down at Matt's day-glo running shoes and hairy bare legs. "I think she thinks you've been drinking."

Foggy popped his spine and rubbed at his face. "Oh god, what time is it? I need to get these ovens on. Robyn!" he called, "I'm not drunk, I just got carried away with recipes."

"I'm grinding aspirin into your coffee," Robyn yelled from the front of the cafe.

"I'm going back to the gym now, thanks for the pointless interruption," Matt said, patting him on the back. "See you after work."

"Try not to frighten schoolchildren with your leg hair."

"Oh, is that what all that screaming was?" Matt laughed as he pushed through the front door.

Foggy nursed his coffee as Robyn slid tray after tray of paper-lined cupcake batter into the ovens, and read over his notes. By daylight, they seemed downright delusional.

"Toffee sriracha?" he mumbled, disheartened, "that's just...unwise."

"New recipes?" Malcolm, unwinding his scarf, picked up a page and scanned it. "Chocolate cannoli cupcake with Sicilian lemon and ricotta frosting. Where did you get this?"

"It's just something I've been working on." For about six hours, he didn't mention.

"Foggy, this sounds amazing. Can we make it as a special?" He handed the scribbled page to Robyn, who looked between it and Foggy with a jaundiced eye.

"We'll put a French tuile on top and fill it with cream. It's the closest we can get to cannoli cookies without a deep fryer. Go buy me five bottles of limoncello."

"One!" Foggy yelped. "Small batch, dear god, we're doing a small batch. We've already got enough flavours for the case."

"Two bottles. This has the stink of an untested recipe." Robyn said darkly.

Foggy guessed he deserved that.

Malcolm worked the register and the espresso machine with easily ten times the grace and speed that Foggy could, and with Foggy in the back hashing out the cannoli cupcake recipe, someone needed to be out front. And while Malcolm could provide service with a smile on the edge of an active volcano, the work arrangement pleased neither Foggy nor Robyn, who could somehow pipe roses threateningly, and who spat version one of the cannoli cupcake onto Foggy's apron.

"Robyn!" Foggy scraped the gob off his chest with her fork and flung it into the sink. "That's disgusting!"

"Probably tastes better now," she said, wiping her mouth. "Were you trying to make a baking soda flavoured cupcake? Because you succeeded."

Foggy glared at her and popped a piece of cupcake into his mouth. Then he spun around and the cupcake went _splang_ in the steel sink.

"Holy tit-monkeys," he gasped.

Robyn slapped a glass of water down at his elbow. "I hope you were a better lawyer than you are a baker."

Foggy spat into the sink again. His saliva fizzed with residual baking soda. "You know what, I'm pretty sure I was."

Cupcake, v.2.0, had the texture of airport carpets. Version 3, 4, and 5 refused to rise.

"Do we sell beermats? No, we sell cupcakes, Foggy. Cupcakes!"

"Yeah, I got it, Robyn."

For version 6 (Cupcake Vista, he joked to himself), he dialed down the flavouring to raising agent ratio. The resulting cake was so bland, it sucked the flavour of spit out of Foggy's mouth and tried to pass it off as it's own.

"We could sell it to people who compulsively eat paper towels."

"Malcolm, that doesn't help."

Versions 7, 7.1 and 7.2 were edible, but over-sweetened and somehow devoid of freshness, despite being warm from the oven.

"Tastes like it's sat on a bodega shelf for a year."

"Let it go, Robyn!"

By three in the afternoon, Foggy was in a proper lather, muttering to himself as he thrashed batter around a bowl with a wooden spoon.

Malcolm prodded a cup of camomile tea towards him with a wary expression. "You know, we close in four hours. Maybe you should just try again for tomorrow?"

"I can make it for the afternoon rush."

"What afternoon rush? There's no-one but Murdock and the pigs after five o'clock," Robyn said.

Foggy glared at them balefully. "It's under control, guys. Just run the store." They shot each other unconvinced looks and went back to work. "And don't call them pigs," Foggy yelled at their backs.

Version 8 needed a touch more salt. Version 8.1 was. _Perfect_. Foggy filled them with limoncello curd and piled on ricotta-flavoured frosting before studding the fluffy white mounds with miniature chocolate chips and balancing a cream filled tuile on top.

"The little orphan defense lawyer is here," Robyn yelled from the front of the cafe. Foggy rushed out to forestall a homicide, but Matt's smile wasn't brittle and forced, it was genuinely amused. Being around Robyn was never predictable, that was for sure.

"Covering up attraction with animosity is a good way to give yourself an ulcer, Robyn," Matt sang. Her eyes bulged and she lunged at him but Malcolm grabbed her around the middle and plucked the frosting spatula out of her grip.

"That was an excellent use of ten hours," she remarked when Foggy arranged five cupcakes on a cake stand by the register and put one on a plate for the three banes of his life to share.

"Yes, it was," Malcolm said pointedly, before grinning at Foggy, "it's delicious." Matt hummed in agreement.

"Yay," Foggy yawned into his palm, "you two, run the store. I'm going to write up that recipe before I forget it. You," he grabbed Matt's shoulder, "sit in your corner and don't upset anyone."

"I promise nothing," Matt said, his mouth full of frosting.

One upside to putting a law-trained brain to work developing recipes was that it kept pristine records, even in the highest pressure situations, so Cannoli cupcake version 8.1 was already roughed out on paper, albeit covered in cross-outs and buttercream. Foggy shoved his notes between some baking trays for safekeeping and cleaned the kitchen. By the time he sat down at his desk to type up the recipe, he was yawning non-stop. He needed to close his eyes, just for a second.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, someone was shaking him awake.

"Screw off, Matt," Foggy mumbled into the desk.

"It's not Matt."

Foggy flung himself back in his chair even before his eyes were open. Detective Castle was standing back, his hand shielded around a mug of steaming coffee. Foggy had probably moved a little suddenly, there. "What are you doing here?"

"Malcolm made you a drink, and Murdock insisted I bring it to you."

Foggy rubbed his eyes and fantasized about breaking into Matt's apartment and stealing each of his left shoes. "Thanks. I usually don't sleep during work," he assured Castle as he took the coffee, "it's just been one of those days. Did Malcolm get you everything you needed?"

"He refused to sell me a cupcake. Said you'd be mad if he did." Castle's face was amused, so Foggy probably wasn't looking at a scathing Yelp review.

"Dammit, Malcolm--ok, let's get you a sugar fix." He ushered Castle out of the office.

In the front of the cafe, Matt, Robyn, Malcolm, _and_ Detective Page were seated around one table, their heads bent together conspiratorially, and when Foggy and Castle stepped through the curtain, all talking abruptly ceased.

"What's going on here?" Castle growled.

"Nothing," four voices chorused.

Foggy glared at each of them in turn. It was remarkably ineffective, given that Page didn't work for him, Malcolm and Robyn weren't scared of him, and Matt couldn't see him. The fact that Matt's lips turned up into a smirk told Foggy he could *feel* the glare, he just didn't give a turd. Maybe Foggy could sabotage his good court suit to split at the crotch during closing statements.

"Alright, let's see what we've got left today. Lemon meringue, apple pie, double chocolate, rhubarb custard, vanilla, chocolate cayenne, and banoffee cream."

Castle nodded. "What're those ones over there that look like cannoli?" He pointed at the cake stand.

"Uh, they're chocolate cannoli with limoncello filling and ricotta icing."

Castle was giving the cannoli cupcakes heart-eyes. "One of those, please."

Out of the corner of his vision, Foggy could see Matt poking Malcolm in the ribs. "Let me get that for you!" Malcolm jumped up and took the tongs out of Foggy's hand. He plated two cupcakes and placed them on Castle's usual table, then poured two fresh coffees.

"Who's the other one for?" Page was sitting with Matt, again, and she was halfway through a lemon meringue cupcake.

"You could use a break!" Malcolm said, pulling out a chair. "Detective, did you know that Foggy came up with this recipe just this morning?"

Castle's eyebrows rose as he hung his coat on the back of the chair and sat down. "Any special reason?"

Foggy swallowed. "No, no reason." Behind him, someone sighed with disappointment.

Malcolm pushed on Foggy's shoulder until his knees buckled and he sat down. "Bon appetit!" Malcolm chirped, and hauled a protesting Robyn into the kitchen.

Page winked at Foggy and turned her chair away from them.

Foggy flashed Castle a weak smile, buried his nose in his coffee, and watched Castle peel the paper liner from the cupcake with a look of childlike anticipation on his face.

"How is it?"

"Tastes like my great-aunt's cannoli," Castle said through a sigh, "Foggy, you're a miracle."

Foggy scratched his temple, just to give his hands something to do.

"Aren't you going to eat yours?"

"I've been testing this recipe all day, so I'm a bit sick of--"

"Eat the damn cupcake, Fog-mph!" Robyn yelled from behind the curtain before someone--Malcolm probably--slapped a hand over her mouth.

Foggy picked up his fork.

"Your friends might be insane," Castle remarked, eyeballing the curtain.

"It's a possibility," Foggy agreed.

"Let me know if you ever need a Section 9.27."

"You mean a 9.39," Foggy said, around a mouthful of cupcake. He was bored with the flavours, but it was gratifying to taste them working together finally, "Section 9.27 is an involuntary psychiatric admission wherein the police or peace officers may transport the patient at the initiating MD's request. Police can only _initiate_ an admission according to Section 9.39's emergency processes."

Castle stared at him. Foggy grimaced.

"I used to be a lawyer," he said at last, bracing for a rebuke. Cops and bakers could be friends, but cops and lawyers were natural enemies. Just look at Matt and Detective Page. But Castle's expression was one of surprise and--was Foggy imagining things again?--admiration.

"This is gonna sound selfish, but I'm glad we met here, and not in an interview room because one of my perps asked for you."

Foggy's brain sent an image of Castle, shirtsleeves rolled up and gun holster making his arms look huge, baring his teeth at Foggy across an interrogation table. "Likewise, Detective," he said, a little strained.

"Aw, come on," and suddenly, all Foggy could hear was Queens, "you can call me by my first name."

"I could, but I don't know it."

Castle looked scandalized, which Foggy found absurdly cute on that stoic face. "It's Frank."

"Hi," Foggy said, a bit shyly, "Frank."

Frank's smile grew. "Hi."

Behind Foggy, Page made a quiet retching sound and Frank's face went momentarily annoyed. It was nice to see that Foggy wasn't the only one surrounded by jerks.

"So," Foggy sat back in his chair--when had he leaned so far forward?--and took a hasty gulp of coffee, "the cannoli--a recipe to keep?"

"Only if you want me in your store every day for all eternity," Frank said, scraping frosting off the plate.

"If that's a threat, Frank, it doesn't work," Foggy chuckled.

"Yeah, well," Frank said, a bit sheepish, "my lieutenant might have an issue with it."

"Then I'll keep it as a special. You'll never know when it'll be on the menu."

Page leaned her hip on the edge of the table. "I hate to break this up, it's warming my heart, or at least something in the chest region. But we've got a call out."

Frank grasped Foggy's wrist briefly before tugging on his trench coat. "Thanks for the cupcake, Foggy. Tomorrow's special is going to be great, I can already tell."

"Bye," Foggy said faintly. When Frank and Page disappeared from view, he turned horrified eyes on Robyn and Malcolm. "Tomorrow's special?!"

"I'll get your notes," Malcolm sighed.

"More coffee," Robyn spat, stomping to the espresso machine.

Matt started whistling. It was the wedding march. Foggy turned around and snapped, "I'm giving you *such* a stink-eye," which just made Matt chortle.

"Malcolm," Foggy called, "can you bring me version 3.0?"

"Got it, boss."

When Malcolm handed Foggy his sheaf of notes and a sad, dense, golden-brown hockey puck on a plate, Matt was still trying to whistle through his laughter. Foggy nodded his thanks and whipped the failed cupcake at the chest of his inappropriately giggling best friend.

***

Half a block from The Foggy Afternoon Cafe, Frank stopped Karen with a hand on her arm.

"I need a favour today."

The detective Karen had been when Frank had first partnered with her would have chirped "sure!" without missing a beat. The detective she was now, three years later, narrowed her eyes and said, "I'm listening."

"Don't pick a fight with Murdock."

"I don't pick fights. I end ‘em," she said, teeth bared. He'd taught her that.

"I know, but I just want to eat a damn cupcake in peace."

She pointed a finger at him. "You just want to make time with a certain baker in peace."

Frank thought about lying, but Karen just eyeballed him harder. "Yes."

"You know, you should just ask him out." Frank gave her a dead-fish stare. It did absolutely nothing. "You know I'm right. He's been making specials for you for weeks."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh my god, Frank. And you call yourself a detective. He's trying to impress you. The cannoli cupcake? The key lime and coconut? Chocolate chess pie, three days after you told him that's what you and your grandpa used to eat on road trips? The specials," she put her hands on his arms, "have been. For you."

Frank shook his head. It couldn't be.

Karen knocked her forehead on his shoulder with a frustrated growl. "There are days when I think you're beyond help."

Probably, thought Frank. "So are you going to leave the lawyer alone or what?

Karen gave him a pitying look. "Ugh. Fine. I'll be perfectly sweet," she moaned, and pushed him away.

"Hate to break it to you, partner, but you're always sweet." He winked and pushed open the door.

"Hey," she said, sounding insulted.

The inside of the cafe smelled like warm baking and a bunch of people who would do anything for each other, and after a day filled with cold concrete and blood spilled in anger, Frank felt the tension in his shoulders loosen. Foggy was behind the counter, and he flashed Frank a wide, sunshiny smile.

"Here again, Matt? Don't you have an apartment?" Karen stood in front of Murdock, hands on her hips, mockingly.

Frank jabbed her in the back.

"What? If I'm too nice, he'll think I'm up to something!" she whispered. Frank grumbled and reached for the coffee waiting for him on the counter.

"How's it looking, Foggy?"

"Pretty as a box of cupcakes," he grinned. He was wearing a rainbow bandana and a dark blond beard was coming in on his jaw. Frank couldn't help but smile back. He never smiled quite so much as when Foggy was around. "So what'll be it today?"

"What's on offer?"

"Come, let me show you my wares." Foggy beckoned him to the pastry case and pointed out eight different types of pastel coloured cupcakes.

"...and finally, the special of the day, toffee and sriracha, with smoked sugar caramel." Foggy lifted the lid of a cake safe with a flourish. Twelve red, mirror-finished cupcakes glistened at Frank appealingly. The shiny caramel shards stabbed into the frosting reflected the lights overhead.

"That's imaginative," Frank said slowly.

"Well, spicy foods aren't for everyone, lawman" Foggy laced his fingers together on top of the pastry case and rested his chin on them with a cherubic expression.

"Is that a challenge, cakemaker?"

Foggy's innocent smile turned into something...less innocent. "You betcha."

Frank narrowed his eyes. He was a senior Detective with the NYPD. He had criminals and angry citizens in his face twelve hours a day, trying to push him into doing stupid things. He was no match for one smirking man trying to tempt him with a cupcake.

Frank tossed his coat onto the chair he now considered his. "One, please," he rumbled.

"Coming right up." The plate landed on the table accompanied by a glass of water, and Frank's dirty look was met with a wink. He cut into the cupcake without breaking eye contact, and ate a piece.

"It's delicious," he said, more than a little surprised, "it's a bit spicy, but it's still sweet."

"It's a cupcake, Frank. Sweet is kind of the point."

"Well, it's great." The frosting was fudgy and clinging, and Frank's tongue wouldn't leave his mouth alone. Foggy's gaze dipped and then *his* tongue darted out. His face, when he realized what he was doing, was startled.

The bell on the door jingled.

"Foggy-bear, I found every single one of your weird-ass ingredients so you better make it worth my while." A beautiful blonde holding a box full of bottles and food packets pushed through the door. She balanced the box on her hip and tugged Foggy's head around--none too gently-- and kissed him. "I hope you've been hydrating!" She marched into the kitchen like she owned it.

"Oh no," Malcolm said, from behind the curtain.

"No, no, no!" Robyn screamed.

"Well, if it isn't the little muffins," Frank heard her say sweetly. It made his trigger finger twitch, as if in sympathy.

Foggy blinked at Frank, excused himself in a faint voice, and darted through the curtain.

Frank put another bite of cupcake in his mouth.

Karen threw herself into Foggy's empty seat. "Who was that?"

"How should I know?"

"You want me to go question her?" She moved to stand and Frank grabbed her wrist. It made her smirk pityingly at him. "Old softie," she accused, stole the last bit of cupcake and went back to nobly refraining from tormenting Murdock.

The lady with the box burst out of the kitchen with as much drama as she swept in, and her eyes were laser-sighted on Frank. "You must be the cop! Foggy's told me exactly nothing about you so I'm here to find out for myself." She sat down across from him and propped her chin in her hands. "So talk!"

Foggy stood under the curtain, twisting his apron strings. Robyn and Malcolm were peeking over his shoulder. Karen was staring, and even Murdock leaned forward attentively.

"Ma'am," he nodded at her. It was even odds that she'd take offense based on age or on formality, but Frank didn't really care either way. "Detective Frank Castle."

She looked at him the same way Karen had, like he was a puppy that kept falling over.

He stared back.

"Not a big talker, are you?" She got up and helped herself to one of the toffee sriracha cupcakes. "I'm Marci, by the way."

"Ma'am," he said again. Karen put her head in her hands, and Murdock patted her back.

Marci spewed crumbs all over the counter when she spoke. "What the hell Foggy, these taste like caramelized ass."

"Frank liked it," Foggy protested.

"Yeah, well, he'll eat anything if you made it. I've been here three minutes and I could tell."

Frank let go of the fork he'd been gripping. It had left a bar shaped imprint along his palm.

Marci's eyes glittered triumphantly, and she sunk her teeth into the cupcake. "Love's like that," she said, and it wasn't nearly as muffled as it should have been. Foggy's eyes widened. Frank stood up.

"Ok, I've had enough of this. Karen?" Frank bundled his coat under his arm. "We have work."

"But we're off shift."

"Then we'll drive around until we find a body," he said through his teeth.

Karen rolled her eyes enormously, but she unstraddled her chair and grabbed her blazer off the back.

"Murdock, Foggy," Frank said shortly as he turned to go. "Excuse me, Ma'am, you're blocking the door." When had she moved?

"No," she said. She was still eating the cupcake disinterestedly and didn't look at him. "Stay."

"Marci--" Frank started.

"Please." Foggy's voice sounded like it came from far away. "Please stay."

Frank turned. Foggy was smiling at him again, and in spite of everything, Frank felt himself smiling back.

"I have to frost about six dozen cupcakes for an event tomorrow morning. But after that, we could maybe have a drink?" Foggy ducked his head, then did an honest-to-god double take at the sight of his dirty apron, cargo shorts, and squashed red chucks. "I will absolutely change my clothes. And shower. And do something with my hair. Actually, maybe tomorrow's a better idea. Tomorrow? Tomorrow."

Karen kicked Frank in the ankle.

"I sort of," Frank cleared his throat and felt five pairs of eyes and a pair of ears on him, "not like a professional, and not in a long time, but--I sort of know how to frost a cupcake." He saw Karen smother a smile, but soldiered on. "Could you use a hand on those six dozen?"

A slow grin spread over Foggy's face. "Yeah, I can send Robyn home early. Why don't you come back when the store closes?"

Karen's toe tapped Frank's ankle again. Honestly, three years ago he would have reamed her out for treating him like a trained dog, but now he knew he sort of needed it.

Foggy's shyly pleased expression became something a little nervous as Frank's stride ate up the distance between them, so Frank stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look unthreatening.

"I'll see you at seven," he said, and bent to kiss Foggy's cheek. At the last minute, Foggy turned his head, and they were kissing. Dry and closed-mouth as pre-teens, but it still made Frank's heart hammer. Foggy smelled like sugar and the heat of the oven, and his fingers brushed Frank's side.

"What's happening?" Murdock hissed. He probably thought he was being quiet.

"They're kissing!" Karen whispered back with all the circumspection of a sports announcer.

Frank felt Foggy sigh into his mouth. It wasn't a "kissing someone and happy about it," sigh, it was a "save me from these idiots" sigh, so Frank pulled back.

"Don't be late," Foggy ordered softly, and Frank's heartbeat did a triumphant, fistpumping thing it didn't usually do outside of the interrogation room.

"I won't. Murdock," he nodded a goodbye at the lawyer, "Marci." Frank's heels were in the clouds, so he waved at Robyn and Malcolm. "Muffins."

Malcolm rolled his eyes, but Robyn's went a little starry. Which--dear god. Frank decided a tactical retreat was the best move.

Marci, finally done with the cupcake, held her hand out to Karen, who shook it gruffly. When the handshake ended, Marci brought Karen's knuckles to her lips and said, "What's your name?"

Karen cleared her throat, but otherwise didn't stop Marci from kissing her hand. "Detective Page."

"Well, that's a funny first name, but give me a few tries and I'll learn to scream it nicely," Marci said with a waggle of her eyebrows, and Karen blushed bright pink.

"Um, I'll just be outside," Karen said and edged past Marci. Frank watched her through the window as she speed-walked _away_ from their car before pulling up short and going back the way she came.

"Okay, that's enough weirdness for one day," Foggy said, and squeezed Frank's arm. "Get out of here, you, and I'll see you tonight."

Frank tucked a strand of hair back under Foggy's bandana. "Alright, I'll let you get back to work."

"Okay."

"Okay."

It took Karen honking the horn from the street to make Frank let go of Foggy's hand.

***

Foggy pointed at Matt and said "don't you even start," before Matt could even get his lips puckered up to whistle.

"Start what? Never mind, I don't actually care. So I'm going to be your best man, right?" Marci smirked at him. One of his green tea cupcakes was half-eaten in front of her, even though she hadn't gone anywhere near the pastry case.

" _Man_ ," said Matt. "Best _man_. That's my job. You can sit in the back of the church in a veil and cry."

"Right, like weeping jealously over Foggy isn't _your_ forte."

"I look better in a tux."

"You have absolutely no way of knowing that."

Matt made a frustrated sound.

Foggy waved Robyn and Malcolm into the kitchen and followed them surreptitiously. Matt and Marci didn't even notice.

"Congratulations, Foggy!" Malcolm said, high fiving him.

"Does this mean you're selling the cafe?" Robyn asked in a dull voice.

"What? Of course not! Why would I do that?" Foggy asked.

"So you can live in Queens with Detective Castle and have dinner on the table when he gets home and probably find some way to pop out a brat who'll hate his father and spend his life working on an organic farm," Robyn scowled at her shoes. Malcolm opened his mouth, probably to say something reasonable and apologetic, but Foggy held up a hand.

He took Robyn by the biceps, walked her over to the bench and sat her down in one of the high stools they used when the job was too hard on their feet.

He put a tray of naked cupcakes, a piping bag filled with vanilla buttercream, and a bowl of sprinkles in front of her. "As long as I'm here, you'll have a place here. And I'm here until someone pries my name off the front of the store."

Robyn didn't look at him, but picked up the piping bag and got to work.

"Oh, and I lied to Frank. We have twelve dozen, not six." The dark look Robyn shot him from under her eyelids made him grin.

"I thought you said I could go home early."

"I'll do six with you and six with Frank. You get to go home earlier than you would have, and I'll actually be able to have a drink with him before it's dawn."

"Lying already? Nice basis for a relationship."

Malcolm, humming under his breath, pulled another stool up to the table, a filled piping bag already in his hand. Outside, Matt and Marci were each arguing that the other one was more qualified to be the ring-bearer than best man at Frank and Foggy's wedding.

Foggy leaned over and kissed Robyn's head. "Shut up and frost."


End file.
